


Careful Making Wishes in The

by Cinderscream



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: And Mark is a small boy who bears an unfortunate resemblance to the dick that got dark killed, Anyways dark is a salty manipulative boy, I wanted to try a thing, Mark has nightmares, So i know i wrote something similar, but - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-03-19 06:11:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13698471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinderscream/pseuds/Cinderscream
Summary: This Mark, this tiny disgustingly innocent child hiding under the covers, is not the one from the manor, twisted and broken into some horrible parody of himself.





	Careful Making Wishes in The

**Author's Note:**

> This idea has potential for more but i think I'll keep it a one shot unless anyone wants more

“What are you afraid of?” asks the figure at the foot of his bed.

Mark shakes his head, hiding under the covers because this feels like a nightmare, like one of the monsters hiding in the shadows beneath his bed has finally decided to show itself, gleaming red eyes piercing through the darkness of his room, drenched in blackness from the lack of moonlight. He’s shivering, cold shudders wracking his frame despite the heavy comforter surrounding him and he swears it’s cold enough for his tears to freeze as the slide down his cheeks. 

“Shh, it’s not me you need to fear”, hushes the figure in the room, soft footsteps thudding quietly against the carpet until Mark can feel it (him? The voice of the figure is echoey, like multiple people are talking at once) settle to the side of his bed, heavy eyes burning through his cotton shield. “It’s okay, I won’t hurt you.” The voice solidifies and it’s definitely male, smooth and warm and deep, the slightest hint of a rasp framing his words. 

Mark cautiously peeks out, dark eyes peering out at his nightly visitor. It’s a man and though Mark’s eyes scan for any sign of demonic features (horns or hoofed feet or fangs), he finds none. He’s a young man, feathery hair falling in dark curls and nearly covering one of his eyes (shaped like Mark’s mother’s eyes and flicker red, then blue, before falling on her familiar warm brown). The man has a long, square-ish face and a somewhat large nose reminiscent of Mark’s father and something about the familiar features helps melt the fear away. He’s wearing a black suit, a red tie snug around his neck and a white flower on his lapel and he’s twirling a cane in his hand, the silver handle glinting in the faint starlight. 

“Who’re you?” Mark squeaks. He’d woken up from a nightmare, veins frozen with ice, a sheen of sweat on his forehead and his first instinct had been to sneak into his big brother’s room. But the man had seemed to materialize from the void and Mark had frozen over once more in fear. 

“I am your friend, Damien”, says the man, lips pulling into a smile, “you don’t know me, but I knew you. It’s good to see you again, Mark.” 

There’s a kernel of suspicion festering in Mark’s gut, but Damien’s eyes look like his mom’s and his smile seems so sincere and he _knows his name._

“You’re my friend?” he asks, just to be sure. 

“Yes. We have another friend, Wil, but he can’t be here right now. Now why don’t you tell me, what are you afraid of?” 

Mark eyes the shadows around them, partially obscuring Damien’s face when he looks away to stare out the window. 

“The darkness”, Mark whispers, hunching down in his covers again. 

“Dark isn’t so bad”, Damien hums quietly to Mark’s confusion but his face is gentle when he faces Mark again. “Don’t worry, nothing outside of this room can harm you. Go back to sleep.”

There’s a protest on the tip of his tongue, but his eyelids feel heavy and there’s black spots encroaching on his vision. 

“Go back to sleep, I’ll be watching over you for a long, long time. You won’t even remember this encounter. Sssh, don’t remember. It’s okay. Your old friend Damien is here to stay.”

Mark slumps back into his bed, curling up into a tiny little ball at the return of the sudden chill. Damien’s eyes grow cold, the color leaching from his skin, his eyes, leaving only the red and blue of his shell. 

“I suppose it’s my turn now. It doesn’t matter that you’re innocent now. It didn’t matter that Damien was innocent _then_. It’s not… _It’s not fair, is it_?” 


End file.
